


Life and Death on the Catbox Planet

by der_tanzer



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty and Chekov can get the shuttle in the air again. But can they do it before McCoy falls apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life and Death on the Catbox Planet

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Rene, easilymused1956, who shared Trek most generously with us all. And special thanks to oddmonster, for all her good advice.

There were four of them on the shuttle, but McKenna didn't survive the crash. It might be a problem, not having a pilot, but that was a concern for later. The shuttle wasn't flyable now anyway, and Scotty didn't know if he could fix it. He didn't know anything when the three of them staggered out of the shuttlecraft, except that they were alive and he was sick. He stumbled away from the others and went to his knees, vomiting helplessly in the sand. McCoy gave him a few minutes, then motioned for Chekov to stay back while he knelt beside Scotty and injected him with a hypo for the nausea. The medical kit was small and limited, and he didn't want any waste, but they needed their engineer on his feet if they were to have any hope of getting back to the ship.

"Thank you, doctor," Scotty said quietly, ashamed of being found out as the weak one already.

"That's all right, Mr. Scott. Just doing my job."

From somewhere behind him, Chekov piped up in his thickly accented Russian, "Are you all right, Mr. Scott? Iz zere anything I can do?"

"No, lad, just give me a minute. Doctor, is there anything to drink in that magic bag of yours? I'm so thirsty, I could drink a glass of water."

"I'm afraid you'll have to. This isn't the kind of climate we want to be drinking alcohol in." He handed Scotty a bottle and reminded him not to spit, much as he might want to. They must conserve as much moisture as possible. "As soon as you're ready, we need to start getting organized."

"Aye, sir. I'm fine now."

 _Sir?_ McCoy thought to himself. Then it hit him. They were out of contact with the _Enterprise_ and the ranking officer was in charge. But was he the ranking officer?

"No way, Mr. Scott. You're the sir in this sandbox. Chief Engineer outranks Chief Medical Officer by a Georgia mile."

"Shite," Scotty muttered and took another swallow of water.

"You've been in charge before, haven't you? What about your six months on _Ice Station Zebra_? I thought you could do anything."

"Aye, well, with shelter, equipment, food, and Mr. Keenser, maybe."

"So we don't have proper shelter and the food is limited, but we've got something better than Mr. Keenser. We've got Mr. Chekov. If the two of you can't do it, it can't be done."

"There is something to that," he said, nodding thoughtfully. He got to his feet and looked around, taking in the landscape of sand dunes and shattered shuttles. They weren't the first to crash here, but they might well be the first to take off again. Then he saw Ensign Chekov standing by the open door of the shuttlecraft and his stomach lurched again. The lad had celebrated his eighteenth birthday last week and if Scotty screwed this up, he wouldn't be getting any older.

"Are you okay there, Mr. Scott?" McCoy asked, laying a steadying hand on his arm.

"Aye, I'm fine. So—so we need to get organized. Can I delegate tha' to ye, Doctor? Ye can handle the food and water rationing, and, uh, Mr. McKenna."

"Yeah, I can do that. But unless we're taking off today, we're gonna have to bury him here."

"Poor lad. I donnae envy the captain, having to tell his ma."

"It's a shame, Mr. Scott," he agreed. "But if we don't put it behind us and get moving, the captain will be telling _your_ ma. And his, too," he added, with a nod at Chekov. McCoy hadn't missed the way Scotty's eyes had gone to him before. If Scotty lost heart in saving himself, he could still be motivated to save the boy.

"Aye, yer right. Mr. Chekov, let's get to work. Surely we can figure out what to do wi' the electrical system here."

"Yes, sir," he said brightly, snapping to attention. "What shall I do first?"

"First, we need to get Mr. McKenna away from the shuttle," McCoy said, hiding behind blunt professionalism. "Mr. Scott, we should do that while Mr. Chekov looks into the electronics."

"No sir," Chekov said quickly. "Wit' all respect, Doctor, I think I am better suited for digging than iz Mr. Scott."

They both turned puzzled eyes on him and he smiled, not understanding the problem.

"How do you figure that?" McCoy asked after a long silence.

"I am younger and stronger, no? Besides, he iz ze superior engineer. Now, where iz shovel? Ze sooner I finish, ze sooner I can return and help Mr. Scott."

McCoy looked at Scotty, who only shrugged. They had wanted to spare him handling the body, but he had a clear point.

"There may no' be a shovel," Scotty said. "Let's see wha' we have for tools, though. There'll be something you can use, I'm sure."

They found a small entrenching tool among the jumble of equipment in the hold, and Scotty took it to the place a few yards away where Chekov and McCoy had laid out Mr. McKenna. They couldn't spare a sheet for his shroud and there would be no proper marker, but they would lay him to rest with all the respect a Starfleet officer warranted. Scotty went back to the shuttle to begin his assessment while Chekov, his smile subdued but his eyes still bright, dug in with the shovel and started moving sand.

Although Scotty was the default captain on this mission-turned-catastrophe, he left it to McCoy to speak over the grave. Mother McCoy had been a God-fearing Baptist and after a few minutes' thought, he came up with the words. Chekov bowed his head, his hands clasped loosely before him, and watched Scotty from the corner of his eye. He was determined to be strong here, to not be the child they so clearly thought he was, but Mr. Scott, who apparently had more freedom and privileges with age and rank, was sniffing softly as tears dropped into the sand. Chekov reached over and patted his arm lightly, causing Scotty to turn to him, startled and ashamed. But something about Chekov's curious expression made him feel that it was all right, and when the ensign gripped his hand, he managed to smile a little, even as he blushed.

McCoy added a brief prayer for the safety of the rest of the crew and they all said amen. Chekov released Scotty's hand and smiled his confident smile.

"I will finish this, Mr. Scott. You have more important work to do."

"So do you, laddie. Come help me as soon as ya can."

"Aye, sir. Fifteen minutes."

"Will you be okay if I go back to the shuttle for a bit?" McCoy asked. "I wanna look over the food supplies and see what we have for water."

"Da, I will be fine." In fact, he worked even faster with no one watching and filled the hole in under fifteen minutes. When he got back to the shuttle, Scotty was digging into the wiring in the cockpit while McCoy organized their most useful supplies and figured out the minimum they would each need to eat to see them through.

As soon as he was in the shaded interior, he stripped off his sweat-soaked shirts and asked if he could have one more swallow of the warm, flat water. McCoy gave it to him with the warning that it was the last he could have until nightfall. Chekov drank it and didn't ask for more. He crawled under the panel beside Scotty without putting his shirt back on and followed his lead.

The nearest they could figure, something in the atmosphere had fried the electrical system as they came down. Probably the same thing that was preventing them from communicating with the ship. The only thing they didn't understand was where the distress call had come from that brought them down here. It couldn't have been from any of the wrecked ships they saw dotting the landscape, and Chekov wondered if he was the only one thinking that those ships had been lured here in the same way. They couldn't avoid the question much longer, but he wasn't ready to bring it up.

"What do you think, Mr. Scott?" he asked after a while.

 _I think I cannae do my best work wi' you lying there half naked_ , skimmed across his mind, but what he said was, "We're going tae need more wires from somewhere. And these circuits are nae good."

"Do we have those?"

"Maybe. We'll have tae see wha' we can cannibalize from the rest of the shuttle, an' maybe some of the others, if they have nae been here too long."

As the alien sun began to set, McCoy called them off the job to eat and settle in for the night. It was getting cold with the thin atmosphere and no cloud cover, and he had already closed the door to trap some heat. Scotty was reluctant to leave his work while there was any light to see by, but Chekov's gentle urging convinced him. That and the sight of his lean back and broad shoulders, lightly dusted with freckles, rising up and moving away. It was stupid, he knew. He was a pudgy, balding, thirty-five year old man and there was no way this beautiful boy would ever give him a second glance. In fact, they could very well die here, but suddenly he knew that if they lived, he would follow those freckles anywhere. The rest of his life, however long that might be, was probably going to be spent in a state of humiliation at the unknowing hands of this brilliant little ensign.

They settled down on the floor in the passenger bay, forming a loose circle around three tins of fruit, two tubes of meat paste and a box of crackers. The fruit juice in the tins would take the place of water at this meal and there would be nothing else to drink until morning. McCoy was trying to keep the worry out his face and Scotty did the same. He just hoped he was doing a better job, because McCoy's shadowy eyes were filled with despair.

Chekov, on the other hand, was looking at them brightly, one long leg folded under him and the other bent up against his chest as he leaned forward on it, eager to start making plans. Sitting up like this, he was the tallest of the three, and they both listened attentively, though McCoy had no idea what he was talking about and even Scotty was occasionally lost in his accent. Neither noticed that he only ate two crackers with a thin layer of paste and shuffled the tins of fruit they all shared without taking any. Only when the fruit was gone and it couldn't be disguised did he take the pear tin and drink the juice. And even then he waited until the others had chosen first.

By the time they were finished, the natural light was completely gone. McCoy turned on an emergency lamp just long enough to get the blankets and then shut it off to preserve the power. It might be needed tomorrow, when they were more deeply involved in the work.

"It's getting colder," Scotty said, trying to keep the nervous quaver from his voice. He was a man who liked comfort, who was willing to work hard under any conditions, but wanted a good meal and a warm bed at the end of the day. Who, most of all, wanted to be home, wherever that might be.

"Deserts are always cold at night," McCoy said matter-of-factly. "And there aren't really enough blankets for all of us. We're going to have to keep together and rely on body heat."

"That iz excellent idea," Chekov said, and even in the dark they knew he was grinning.

Scotty didn't move until he heard the ensign beside him kick off his shoes and unzip his pants. Only then did he begin undressing, grateful for the darkness that hid his pasty, out of shape body, although he knew that too much huddling together for warmth would expose him just as effectively as the sunlight that never touched his skin.

When he lay down, Chekov was quick to snuggle into him, pressing against his back when Scotty turned away. McCoy covered them with the two blankets and tucked himself under the edge on Chekov's other side. He turned away, too, but could still feel the heat coming off the lithe body at his back. The kid was like a furnace, like Kirk, with his boundless energy and readily shared warmth. After a while he heard the murmur of voices and knew that his planning wouldn't go to waste. McCoy closed his eyes and wished for Jim.

Scotty tried hard not to shiver, tried to hide his fear, but the boy, that sweet, thin, freckled body, was pressed too close. He tried to steady his breathing and failed. The next thing he knew, Chekov was propping himself up on one elbow and wrapping his other arm around Scotty's chest.

"Mr. Chekov," he whispered, only to be interrupted before he could think of what might follow.

"Pavel," he murmured. It came out _Pawel_ and Scotty shivered again. "Are you cold, Mr. Scott?"

"Aye, a wee bit. But I'll be okay. Ye do nae have to worry."

"I am not worried, Mr. Scott. We will stay warm tonight, and tomorrow you will save us."

"I will?"

"Da. You are ze great Montgomery Scott. So long as we have you, we will be fine." He stroked Scotty's chest as he spoke, twisting the wiry hairs around his fingers, feeling the flush of heat that betokened embarrassment and arousal in equal measure.

"I am nae that great," he slurred, hypnotized by the low voice and gentle hand.

"But you are. You can do anything. You," he whispered, "are ze greatest engineer, ze greatest _mind_ , in all of Starfleet. I have been in awe of you since ze day we met, just waiting for ze right time to say so. To find a way to ask you to be my friend."

"Laddie, if this is how ye make friends…"

"I am not zat kind of man, Mr. Scott. You are special. If you do not want me later…" he teased, letting his hand slide down over the rounded belly, "zat is all right. But at least let me warm you tonight."

"Not want you?" Scotty breathed, unable to stop the words from escaping. Chekov laughed softly, low and warm against his neck, and his hand slipped farther down.

"Zo you do?"

"Laddie, who wouldn't? But ye—are ya sure this is nae aboot the situation? Ye will nae regret it if we get back?"

"I am sure. Zis—Mr. Scott, zis iz not a good thing. We are in danger here, I know zat. But it is also ze opportunity of a lifetime for me. You must not feel you are taking advantage of me when really it iz I who am taking advantage of you."

"Are ye now?" he asked, laughing self-consciously. "And who would believe I was taken advantage of by a wee bit of a thing half my size and half my age?"

"Perhaps no one. But iz no matter. Either you will end it when go back, or we will be together and zere will be nothing to tell. Iz all up to you." His long fingers wrapped around Scotty's half-hard cock and it sprang erect at once.

"I cannae do it without ye. I cannae get us back by myself."

"I am here, Mr. Scott. For ewerything you need."

"Then ye ought to start by calling me Monty," he said, turning on his back and opening his arms to the eager boy.

"And I am Pavel. Or Pasha, if you like. Iz closer to your familiar Monty."

"Pasha," he repeated, rolling the word over his tongue and finding it fit. Pavel eased on top of him, sealed his mouth with a kiss, and showed him how good quick, silent sex could be, rubbing and jerking them both to orgasm while Monty clung to him, holding on tight.

"Hope the doctor was nae awake for that," Scotty laughed, suddenly self-conscious again.

"He has no room to complain," Chekov said lightly. "We have made it wery warm for him."

And they had, but not in the way he meant. McCoy lay still, breathing slow and even as if he were fast asleep, his cock throbbing painfully against his belly. It was torture not to be able to touch himself, especially knowing how little it would take, but he'd be damned if he let them know he was awake. The morning was going to be awkward enough without that.

He listened to them whispering together, not getting all of the words, or even trying to, and was relieved beyond all measure when they finally went to sleep. Only then did he allow himself the dubious pleasure of going outside and jerking off in the freezing dark. If asked, he could say he'd gone to take a leak. But neither the sound of the shuttle door closing nor the draft as he slid under the blankets disturbed them, and after a while, McCoy slept.

***

Bright and early the next morning, the three of them shared out fruit and crackers again, and again Chekov managed to eat only a few crackers, washed down with half a tin of peach juice. He gave the other half to Scotty, with the excuse that larger bodies needed more fuel, and Scotty was too shy about the real reason to draw attention by turning it down. McCoy already knew the reason, though, and kept his comments to himself. After that, Scotty was anxious to get to work. He kept watching Chekov for any sign of the sweet-talking Pasha of last night, but the boy he saw this morning was the same brilliant, bubbly ensign he'd always known. The tall, lean, athlete whose wide eyes and dimpled cheeks belied a mind as great as his own. The boy who had always intimidated him, no matter how closely they worked together or how casually friendly Chekov had been. As he crawled back into the control panel, he wondered if Chekov wanting him gave him any power in the relationship, or if his greater want would always make him submissive to the pretty ensign's will.

For two days they worked on the shuttle, testing theories, burning up components, and starting over again. All that time, Chekov smiled and bounced, Scotty fretted over the damaged craft, and McCoy sat in the shade growing quieter and more despondent by the hour. On the third night, he gave Scotty and Chekov one blanket and curled up alone under the other. It was wrong and everyone knew it, but Chekov knew how to fix it, too. He was confident in his intuition, as certain of his abilities here as he was when working equations at the helm.

"Pasha," Scotty whispered, cradling him there in the dark. "Pasha, we shouldn't."

"We should. Iz what you need, l'ubimaya. My love."

"But wha' aboot _him_? It's not fair, now, is it?"

"Do not worry, love. I have what he needs, too."

"Wha' does tha' mean?" he hissed, suddenly terrified. But Chekov didn't answer in words. He snuggled under Scotty's arm and began to stroke him lightly, bringing him instantly erect and sweeping away the suspicions Scotty had meant to voice. If he was going to lose the beautiful boy who called him his love, then so be it. But first they would have this. He pulled Chekov ( _Pasha_ ) on top of himself and held on desperately, one hand clutching his tight little ass hard enough to bruise, the other buried in his thick curls. Pavel kissed him, thrusting and stroking, made him come quickly and went with him, voicing only the softest of moans. Then he was pulling away.

"Pasha, no."

Chekov slid back into his arms, covering his mouth with one slender hand. Leaning close, he whispered, "I must, l'ubimaya. I have watched him during the day and he iz—iz sinking. He needs me." He removed his hand and placed a tender kiss on the soft lips.

"But—but you said…"

"I said I love you, Monty. I am yours and you are mine. But zis iz different. We need him and he iz slipping away."

"I love you," Scotty whispered.

"Da, Monty. Iz okay. I promise." With one more kiss, he slipped away. Scotty heard him slide across the floor and tried to close his ears to the whispers that followed. But he couldn't, and the sounds that followed the whispers were worse.

Chekov had told the truth when he said that he knew what McCoy needed. His sense for comfort and pleasure was as finely tuned as his analytical mind, and with just a few light caresses, he convinced the doctor to take what he had to have. What would get him through this night and the day to come.

McCoy tried to resist for about thirty seconds. Then he was pushing the boy down on his back, humping him frantically, grunting with effort, unaware of everything around him, including Pavel's silent cooperation. The boy was clever enough to play both sides, working the man he lay with to a skillful climax without the moans and sighs that would further wound the one he loved. He was only a willing tool here, a warm body for the lonely man to come against, and if he got hard himself, if he came again with McCoy thrusting against his belly, sucking bruises on his neck, he made sure neither man knew it.

"Chekov," the doctor sighed, nuzzling the sweat-damp neck.

"Pavel," he corrected. "I am Pavel to you now."

Not Pasha, McCoy noted, as he had heard Scotty call the boy. Well, that was fair.

"Then I'm Leonard. And now that we're all on a first name basis…"

"Monty," Pavel called softly. "Come here, l'ubimaya. Iz warmer wit' three."

Scotty fought down the urge to ask if it wouldn't be a crowd and dragged his blanket over to join them. Somehow Pavel found a way to hold them both.

***

In the morning, Pavel ate a handful of nuts and drank some Andorian lipchen juice, which tasted quite a bit like pears, then went to work. He had an idea about how to reroute power around the damaged circuits, and if they could get the shields online, they might have a chance of getting through the atmosphere. Assuming the _Enterprise_ was still waiting.

Chekov was a talker by nature, but he didn't talk about that. He knew that was why McCoy had taken to sitting outside the shuttle and drinking from a flask that they hadn't known he had. He didn't just miss the captain, he feared that Kirk was gone. That he wasn't just up there grieving and possibly consoling himself with an ensign or two of his own, but that he had given them up and left. The consoling part was okay—everyone knew those two were so committed that a little sex on the side couldn't touch them—but the grief Kirk must feel, the despair it would take to drive him away, that was what McCoy feared. His soul mate might go on without him, but he would never heal.

So he sat in the lean shadow of the shuttlecraft and sipped his bourbon while the ones who knew what they were doing worked to get them home. Pavel didn't see the need to mention what would happen if they did take off and there was no ship. If that happened, they would drift through space until the life support systems failed or they ran out of food, but since this planet, or at least the part of it they were on, couldn't exactly support life, it didn't matter. The food would run out here, too.

"Pasha, lad, we're stopping for lunch," Scotty said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Iz okay, Monty. I am not hungry."

"Do nae be lying to me now, Pasha. Wi' wha' we've had tae eat lately, everyone's hungry all the time."

"I will be done in a minute. But you should go check on ze doctor. He needs to eat more than I do."

"Aye, well, don' ye be forgetting," he said, crawling out from under the panel. "We need ya on yer feet, laddie."

Chekov made a sound of vague agreement, accompanied by a general shooing gesture. Scotty got up and went outside.

"Afternoon, Doctor," he said gently, sinking into the sand beside him.

"Scotty. How's it going in there?"

"Coming along fine. Pavel's still working on it. He's got some bright ideas, does that one."

"Yeah, he's chock full of ideas," McCoy said dryly. "You know, I feel like I owe you an apology for last night. I—uh—I never should have…"

"Ye do nae owe me anything," he sighed. "He's his own man and what he does is his business."

"That him talking, or you?"

"'Tis the truth, is all. Sure, I'd keep him to myself if I could, and maybe I can when this is over, but he's gonna do wha'ever he thinks is right. He's just a lad, but he's strong willed. Everyone knows tha'."

"It's a good thing, too, as many times as he's saved our collective ass. A kid his age needs a strong will to be heard when his superiors are fighting."

"Aye. But there'll be nae fighting here."

"No, no fighting. God knows I got no right to fight over anything."

"'Tisn't aboot rights, Doctor. We just have tae work together if we're going tae survive. And ye need to put away tha' flask and come inside. Time tae eat, ye know."

"More fruit and crackers? Wonderful. But hang on a second. The kid's not eating, is he? I mean, if he is, I haven't seen it."

"No? But he's always there, wi' the crackers and—and…"

"The fruit juice, yeah. But the fruit? No. And not that many crackers, either. He takes 'em, but he puts 'em back when he thinks no one's looking."

"Tha' little bugger. Why did ye nae tell me?"

"You've got eyes. I figured you could see as well as I could."

"I guess I might've, but—well, I've been trying so hard _not_ tae look at him—I did nae want tae be so obvious."

"Yeah, that was a little bit obvious, too. But I think the time for make believe subtly has passed, Montgomery. Let's go force some food down the kid's throat before he dries up and blows away."

"Aye, Leonard. I won' be able tae do this wi'out him." He got up and offered the doctor a hand. McCoy took another hit off his flask, then gripped the hand and pulled himself up.

"I wish I could help," he said quietly, and that was when Scotty realized he was drunk.

"Yer helping, Doc. Keep the lad from starving tae death and we'll call it even."

They climbed into the shuttle where Pavel was still buried in the console, an expanse of taut abdomen showing above the waistband of his pants. He'd given up shoes and socks days ago, to save time emptying the sand out of them, and his long, finely shaped feet were braced against the floor for traction, as if he were trying to force his entire body into that of the ship. Scotty crouched down and wrapped his hand around an exposed ankle, smiling when Pavel didn't even flinch. Either he was too deeply engrossed in his work, or he was already so comfortable with Scotty that he was beyond being startled. It didn't really matter; they were both good options.

"Pasha, love, come out of there," he cajoled. "You need tae eat."

"In a moment," came the strained reply. "I zink I almost have zis…"

"Sorry, no. It's nothing ye cannae do better wi' a bit of food in ye."

"Just one more minute," he hedged, and Scotty felt his ankle tense as he tried to reach just a little farther. For a second he was tempted to tickle that slender foot, but instead he grabbed the other ankle and pulled.

"No, Monty, wait," Pavel cried, but the bigger man was implacable. There was nothing to hold onto that wouldn't tear loose and undo all their hard work, so he let go and allowed Scotty to drag him out. It was sort of arousing at that, and he was suddenly looking forward to getting back to the _Enterprise_ where Scotty could drag him around on a comfortable bed. That thought made him want to crawl back into the console and finish what he'd started, but Scotty was stroking his sunken belly now and that was nice, too.

"Come and eat, Pasha. Ye must be hungry. I know ye've been skimping, but that stops now."

"I do not need much," he said, sitting up and shrugging his freckled shoulders, brushing his hands on his pants, which were not any cleaner. "We will go home soon, Monty. I can eat then."

"Not if ye starve first. I've seen ye eat, laddie. Yer a bottomless pit."

"You need it more than I, l'ubimaya. But I will come and keep you company if you like." He leaned forward and kissed Scotty softly on the mouth.

"Ye'll eat, laddie, if we have to force ya. And the doc's on my side. Between the two of us, we can do it."

"You worry too much," he grinned, as if they were back on the _Enterprise_ debating whether Scotty should double check something three times instead of four.

"Aye, well, whether I do or no is nae concern of yers. I'm in charge of this mission, which means I can worry if I want."

"All right, love. If it will make you happy." Still grinning, he followed Scotty out into the bay where McCoy was setting out the food.

"I hate to bring this up," the doctor said quietly, "but I'm really starting to wonder what's out there."

"Out where?" Pavel asked brightly, as if there were no ground beneath their shuttle.

"Outside, kid. You know, that place where you'd go to crap if you ate anything."

If they were expecting a protest, they were disappointed. Pavel shrugged again, pulled his knees to his chest, and crossed his ankles.

"What do you think iz out zere?" he asked instead.

"I don't know, but someone called us down here, remember? The distress call? You were on the bridge when it came in."

"Oh, zat. Yes, zere was a call, but I think it was not a person."

"What?" McCoy snapped. "What the hell are we doing here, then?"

"It must have been a beacon of some kind. Probably from one of zese other ships. Ze crash survivors would have turned it on before zey died. You can see zere iz nothing here but a dead planet wit' a heavily electrical atmosphere." He spoke with a kind of simple confidence that made it impossible to doubt him, but McCoy was still surprised.

"Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"I did not know until we got here, and zen it did not matter." He shrugged again, a gesture that didn't reassure them so much as it called attention to how bony his shoulders had become. Always lean, the heat was melting the flesh off of him, but his energy and his optimism were unabated.

"You weren't aware," the doctor muttered.

"Och, what do you want from the lad? He cannae think of everything," Scotty said defensively, trying not to look at the bruises McCoy had left on that elegant neck. Pavel flashed him a brilliant grin and he felt well-rewarded. He handed the ensign a tin of Vulcan plums and a spork with which to eat them. Normally they shared the tins so each man got a little of each kind of fruit, but that was how Pavel managed to juggle and keep from eating. This time he was given his own and the other two watched to make sure he ate them.

"Zere, are you happy?" he asked, not at all sarcastic or put out.

"Almost. Have some crackers and then drink the juice," McCoy said, but he was smiling a little now.

"Aye, Doctor. Whatewer you say." He took four and ate them quickly, washing them down with thin plum syrup. "May I go back to work now, or do you want me to take a nap first?"

"Wouldn't kill you," McCoy muttered, still smiling. "It's not like you sleep at night."

"I sleep enough. But thank you for your concern." He dropped him a wink, kissed Scotty, and crawled hastily back into the cockpit. Scotty picked up the last cracker, McCoy having allotted them each five, and followed him. After a very brief argument, he prevailed upon Pavel to eat it and then crawled under the panel beside him.

***

That night Pavel maneuvered them into place on either side of himself, covered them all with both blankets, and cradled McCoy's head on his chest. Scotty eased his arm behind Pavel's neck and held him close, giving a little physical comfort to his main source of moral support. Late in the night Pavel woke to find the doctor on top of him, rubbing against his thigh and biting his sharp collarbones. He felt McCoy's chest heaving, felt hot tears dropping on his dry, peeling skin, and hugged him hard with one arm. Scotty was awake, Pavel could tell by his quick, shallow breathing, and he craned his neck to capture his mouth in a kiss. Scotty returned it, moaning hungrily as Pavel's hand moved to his erection and squeezed. After a moment's hesitation, Scotty reached over him and put his arm around McCoy, finally closing the circle.

The next morning Scotty found a way to get the shuttle off the ground.

"I wish we had communication," he muttered as Pavel strapped himself in the co-pilot seat.

"We will when we get through ze atmosphere," he said complacently, his blue green eyes shining with suppressed excitement. "Ze ship will be in orbit and we will meet up wit' it somewhere."

"If we're lucky," McCoy said from behind him. With nothing to do but wait, the doctor had more free time to worry and was using it accordingly.

"It will be," Pavel said, sounding almost dreamy now. "Ze ship will be zere, and ze keptin will be waiting to meet you."

McCoy made a huffing sound and fell silent. Everyone knew about his relationship with Jim, and he knew that everyone knew, but that didn't mean he liked to hear it spoken of. Maybe it was his age or his Southern upbringing, or maybe it was the dignity he attached to the medical profession, but he wanted his personal life kept private. Not the easiest thing to accomplish when the love of his life was James T. Kirk, but he had to admit that that aggravating man was worth it. Worth even casual remarks from an upstart genius ensign, if that was what it came to. Although it didn't hurt that the ensign in question had quite probably just saved his life.

No one spoke, beyond the few murmured instructions required to pilot the shuttle, and the nearer they got to breaking the planet's atmosphere, the more difficult it became for Scotty to speak. When they reached the starry expanse of space, he fell silent and turned wide eyes toward Chekov.

"Zey are here somewhere," Pavel said in response to the question in those eyes. "If you hail zem, zey will answer.'

"I guess it's the only thing to do," he sighed, reaching for the switch. Intellectually, he knew Chekov was right. If the ship was orbiting the planet, the odds of catching it right there were very small. It should have been a bigger surprise to find it than not. But his heart wasn't intellectual at all and it was disappointed.

"Scott to _Enterprise_ ," he said crisply, able to be professional if not actually hopeful. "Scott to _Enterprise_. Come in, _Enterprise_."

Suddenly Uhura's voice filled the cockpit and they let out a collective breath that they hadn't known they were holding.

" _Enterprise_ here, Mr. Scott."

"Thank God. Can ye lock on our signal, _Enterprise_? We'd like to be getting out of this shuttle."

"Let me contact engineering, Mr. Scott."

"Thank ye, Lieutenant." He glanced over at Chekov and was met by a happy, peaceful smile. "You were right, laddie. Home again in no time."

"Aye, Commander. But you did all the work. I just had faith."

The _Enterprise_ didn't require line of sight to beam them aboard, and almost before he knew it, Scotty was standing on the transporter pad. He saw Mr. Spock watching them impassively, and the captain, whose face was all laughing smiles, and started to relax. The nightmare was finally over.

"Where's Lieutenant McKenna?" Kirk asked, his smile fading.

Before anyone could answer, Chekov's knees buckled and he dropped silently to the pad. Scotty knelt beside him, lifted his head and patted his pale cheeks. The boy had been so lively throughout their adventure, so confident on the trip back, that only now was Scotty really seeing the translucence of his skin and the dark blue veins around his eyes. Only now that he was perfectly still, was it possible to see how far he'd sunk.

"Pasha," Scotty cried, his voice cracked and hoarse. "Doctor, help." McCoy scrambled over to them, already shouting for someone to call sick bay. It was the captain himself who scooped up Chekov's slender figure and whisked him away, McCoy following close behind. Scotty was struggling to rise, too weak with hunger and fear to pick himself up, and Spock moved swiftly to take his arm.

"Are you all right, Mr. Scott?"

"Aye, I'm fine. Just help me up. I need tae get to sick bay."

"Yes, you do," Spock agreed, supporting him with an arm around his waist. "You're not well."

"I'm well enough. It's Pasha. I have to be with Pasha."

That earned a raised eyebrow, which Scotty didn't see. Spock didn't have to ask any questions; he knew what that name represented. A less logical man might have argued that Scotty needed to worry about himself, but Spock didn't waste his time. Whatever the motivation, the destination was the same.

Spock took him to Chekov's bedside, where McCoy sat on a stool running a tricorder over his chest. Nurse Chapel was there starting an IV and trying at the same time to convince McCoy to let someone else take over, but her argument was as futile as the one Spock declined to make. She had to settle for putting a drip in the doctor's arm, too, and letting him go about his business.

"Christine, darlin', get Mr. Scott a seat," he said quietly.

"Shouldn't he have a bed, sir?"

"He should, but it's not worth fighting about. Get Doctor Brazeau to look him over right here."

"Yes sir," she sighed and hurried away to find Joan Brazeau, who had been in charge while McCoy was gone.

"Should have met us in the transporter room," he snapped when she appeared.

"And I would have, but Mr. Sulu was injured during fencing practice and needed emergency surgery. I didn't want to leave him with Doctor Jenson until I was sure I had the bleeding under control."

McCoy nodded silent approval. Adderly Jenson would make a fine surgeon one day, but he was still learning, and Sulu was too important a member of the crew to take any chances with.

"He's all right, now?"

"Doctor Jenson's closing. He'll be fine. Now, Mr. Scott, how are you?"

"I'm fine," he said shortly.

"He's dehydrated, to start. Set up an IV and give him a thorough exam. Or as thorough as you can without moving him."

"I don't understand," she said, even as she obeyed. "Why are we breaking protocol here?"

"Because Mr. Scott deserves a little special treatment. He and Mr. Chekov saved our skins, so if he wants to sit here with the kid, I'm going to let him."

"Thank ye, sir," Scotty murmured, touching Pavel's hand lightly.

"For a little while," McCoy went on. "But you will need to lie down and rest soon."

"After he wakes up."

"We'll see."

"I think you all have this under control," Kirk announced, grinning like a cat with a dirty secret. "Bones, you get some rest, too, and I'll see you for a full debriefing this evening."

"Sure, this evening. Just one thing, Jim. You probably guessed it already, but we—uh—we buried McKenna down there."

"Yeah, I figured that out," he said, his grin slipping. "I'll take care of it. You just worry about the living."

***

Scotty submitted to as much care as could be administered in the chair by Pavel's bed, wrapped in a blanket and receiving fluids, eating what McCoy dictated but without much appetite for maybe the first time in his life. He needed a shower and a shave, clean pajamas and a soft bed, but first he had to speak to the lad who had stolen his heart. He had to know that it was real and not just something that happened in a bad situation, like he hoped it was with McCoy. If he left now, his doubts would overwhelm him, convince him that Pavel was only comforting him, jollying him along, and he wouldn't be able to come back.

A different set of doubts accosted him as his vigil entered the second hour. Doubts about his own behavior, the self-centeredness that kept him from seeing that Pavel didn't eat, didn't drink, didn't rest so long as he thought someone else needed it more. And Scotty had let him sacrifice, never dreaming that a lad his age could be so selfless.

As the second hour bled into the third, he began to combine the two ideas, wondering how he would repay Pavel's kindness if their relationship were to revert back to the purely professional one they had always shared. A boy could do that, he thought. At eighteen it wasn't that hard to have sex and move on. But Scotty was too old to forget. He'd wanted this shining star since the day they met, had wanted to be partners with him in every way, but in the four months since then all he'd managed to do was share a few meals and involve him in some particularly tricky engineering problems. Not the least of which being that mess down on the desert planet.

Now that he'd had a taste of real partnership, working and living together, depending on each other for survival, he didn't want to give it up. More than anything, he wanted to keep going forward and strengthen that bond. If Pavel woke up and laughed at him, laughed at the notion than such a bond existed, Scotty was pretty sure he'd die of shame. So he sat there and stroked the slender hand, remembering the first day when Pasha took off his shirts and never put them back on, thinking about how he never burned because he worked inside the shuttle nonstop. The only physical signs of the ordeal were his cracked and bleeding lips and the peeling skin caused by dehydration. And the bruises McCoy had left on his neck. Scotty hoped he'd have the chance to see those heal and replace them with marks of his own.

The third hour was nearly up when Pavel opened his eyes. There was no moment of confusion, no looking around to see where he was or trying to remember what had happened. He only smiled and squeezed Scotty's hand.

"Monty," he whispered. "Are you all right?"

"Am I? Aye, laddie, I'm fine," he said shakily. "But you—ye've had a hard time, haven't ya?"

"I have? No, l'ubimaya, not at all. Have I not been asleep most of ze day? You are ze one who iz tired. Sweet, faithful Monty." He sat up and touched Scotty's cheek with his free hand, drawing from him a quavering sigh and bringing a sudden sheen of tears to his eyes. "You are sad? What iz wrong, love? Did something happen while I was asleep?"

"No, nothing happened. I—I was just worried about ye. And feeling bad aboot being so selfish before. I shouldnae have let ya starve yerself, especially as hard as ye were working. I was nae paying attention and ye paid for it."

"No, love. Iz not your responsibility. You were working hard, too, wit' not enough to eat. I should have taken better care of myself. But iz no matter now. We are home." He lay back down, not releasing Scotty's hand. "You should rest, l'ubimaya. Come and sleep wit' me. It will be more comfortable than last night, no?"

He slid over to the other side of the bed, tugging gently at the hand he held so tight. Scotty hesitated only long enough to take off his slippers and arrange their IV lines before crawling in beside him.

"I thought ya wouldnae want me after we got back," he confessed, burying his face in the mop of unruly curls.

"I have always wanted you," Chekov said with a happy sigh. "But iz not easy for a boy my age to approach a man like you."

"Funny, I'd've said the same thing. Sweet, brilliant lad like ye could have yer pick of men or women."

"I know. Everyone flirts wit' me all ze time. But I was waiting for you."

"Me and the doctor?" he asked cautiously, ashamed of himself but needing to know.

"Nyet, l'ubimaya," Pavel reproved sharply. Then his tone softened and he snuggled into Scotty's chest again. "I did not make love to him and he knows it. He needed warmth and comfort, zat iz all. It will not happen again."

"Good," Scotty muttered, shamed but still triumphant.

"You were not jealous, were you? Silly Monty. Tomorrow, when I am out of zis bed and in my own, I will prove to you ze difference between love and sex. But now you must sleep, too. You have had too long a day already."

Scotty kissed him softly, but with promise, and settled the fragile body more comfortably against his sturdier one. Despite his brave words, it was Pavel who went to sleep first. Scotty lay awake and watched over him for a long time.

***

McCoy wasn't on duty that night. He stayed with Chekov until he was sure the boy was sleeping and not unconscious, and then left him under Scotty's watchful care. Dr. Brazeau tried to put McCoy in a bed and observe him as well, but he wasn't having any of it. He stuck to his willful independence until the captain came for him, then went meekly to his quarters to rest. Brazeau and Jenson were taking care of things, as they had while he was gone, and he wasn't worried. Although he did ask Brazeau to update him on Chekov's condition every hour; an order that Kirk cancelled behind his back with the addendum that McCoy be called if anything serious occurred.

"You had a pretty hard time down there, didn't you?" Kirk asked, pouring two drinks and handing one to his friend.

"Yes, I did." He took the glass and sank into a chair, stretching his legs out and toeing off his shoes. "I've had some bad times since I joined Starfleet, but I've never felt as useless as I did in that desert. Watching those two work themselves to death and not being able to do a damn thing except sit on my ass and wait—that's the worst I've ever felt in my life. And that includes the time I had Andorian shingles."

"That's bad all right. Did you get to do any doctoring at all?"

"Not a lick. McKenna died on impact and the engineering savants never so much as got a headache. All I did was drink bourbon and wish I wasn't a doctor so I could do something useful."

"Well, you've been useful since you got back. I don't mind telling you, Bones, I was pretty scared when I saw that kid collapse. And I haven't handled him much to compare, but I'd say he's skinnier than he was."

McCoy nodded, blushing helplessly and staring into his glass. Kirk raised his eyebrows, the beginnings of a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.

"Did you, uh, get to handle him much?"

"Jim…"

"What, you think I'm gonna be mad? Come on, spill. I bet you guys were having orgies every night after it got too dark to work."

"Jim…"

"Leonard…"

"Stop it. Just stop it, Jim. Chekov's a cute kid, and I admit I couldn't help looking at him, since he didn't wear a shirt the whole time. But Scotty's got his little ensign heart all sewn up, and I—I've got—you."

"So that's it? All that time and you just sat there and watched them fall in love? That's cute, Bones. Really cute."

"Jim," he murmured, not lifting his eyes.

"I _knew_ it. You old dog, you. And after all the times I tried to get you into a threesome. You should've told me all you needed was a teenage ensign and a pudgy engineer."

"Hang on now, it wasn't a threesome," he protested, finally raising his head and turning flashing eyes on his lover. He knew that it technically was, at least the second time. But he and Scotty hadn't really done more than hold each other so he decided to stick with his story.

"No? Too bad. So which one of them got to you?"

"Which one do you think?" McCoy snorted, topping off his drink.

"Well, that's okay then. I was getting worried, but anybody would screw the kid. With Scotty it would have to mean something."

"Yeah, well, I didn't _screw_ him," he muttered into his glass. "Merely—took a little comfort. And don't try to tell me you spent every night alone, sick with worry."

"Ship's full of ensigns," Kirk shrugged. "But you know I was worried. Why the hell else would we have spent four days in orbit around that God forsaken catbox of a planet? We were trying to figure out how to get another shuttle through that magnetic field without Scotty and Chekov to do the math. There just wasn't anyone else on this ship that could do it."

"I believe that. You know, I was scared of a lot of things down there—starvation, sunstroke, gut worms, you taking off and leaving us there to die—but I was never afraid they couldn't get the job done if they just had time."

"Gut worms, huh?"

"Like you said, it was a catbox." He took a drink and set the glass on the table. "Damn, I missed you, Jim. Humping that kid in his sleep was okay, but it's no substitute for a night with you."

"You sure know how to make a guy feel special. So, you want to go to bed? It's okay if you're tired. I can just hump your leg."

"This is what I missed. I'm so glad I made it back for this," he said dryly. "But yeah, I want to go to bed. You can do whatever you want with me, just don't wake me up."

"Dude, you are _no_ fun at all," Kirk said, getting up and hauling him to his feet. "But that's okay. I can amuse myself."

"Good. Just keep it sane, okay? I don't want to wake up with a bunch of ensigns in my bed."

"All right, since you asked so nice."

"Oh, but speaking of ensigns, I ought to go look in on Chekov. Joan hasn't called in her report."

"Yeah, about that. I told her not to unless there was something you really needed to know. Scotty's keeping an eye on him and Brazeau's on duty all night. Now come to bed. I can't hump you here. At least not without a wall."

"You countermanded my orders? Jim, I'm a doctor. I'm responsible for that kid. Besides, he saved my life."

"And got you laid. I understand the debt. But he's okay, Bones. You both are. You're home and everything's okay."

McCoy drew a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering sigh, leaning heavily on his friend. Jim walked him over to the bed and sat him down, undressed him tenderly and hushed his feeble arguments.

"Len, baby," he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard in this unguarded moment. "Just relax now, it's all okay. I'm right here and you're safe. You're always gonna be safe with me."

"I didn't want to die without you there," McCoy slurred, already half asleep.

"I'd have been there. I never would have left without you. Imagine that, Len. The _Enterprise_ would have just orbited that catbox planet forever, the most expensive grave marker three men ever had. Excuse me, four men. And everybody on the ship who didn't mutiny and leave me. They could _all_ leave, but I wouldn't go." He kissed the sleeping man on the temple, meaning every word he said, while still being grateful that none of it would be remembered in the morning.

He was smiling as he stripped off his uniform and slid naked into bed. As if he'd even slept while his lover was gone, let alone found time to nail ensigns. Quite possibly Len had believed him, and there was certainly precedent to support it, but he wasn't worried. Len never cared about his little dalliances, and Jim didn't care about whatever happened with Chekov. None of that had anything to do with them.

***

"You are on duty so early," Chekov said brightly as McCoy took his pulse. "Ze captain iz not giving you ze day off?"

"No, he is. I'm not on duty, I just wanted to check you over myself. Doctor Brazeau says you're anxious to get out of here."

"Yes sir. I am not sick, so zere iz no reason for me to stay here."

"I think you're right. You're pretty healthy, all things considered. Just rest for a couple days and get plenty to eat. Scotty can show you how if you have any trouble."

"I will be fine. But thank you, Leonard."

"I didn't do anything," he said roughly, a world of self-recrimination in his eyes. " _You_ saved _me_ , remember? From a lot of things." His hand went to the bruise on Chekov's collarbone and Pavel caught it, gripped it firmly, pulled it away and held it in his lap.

"You gave us a reason. Monty and I, we work for the sake of working. We do physics and play wit' numbers because iz fun. Without someone to save, we might have stayed there forever, trying to find ze _best_ way, ze most perfect arrangement of particles, not ze fastest. People like us need people like you to keep our heads in ze real world."

"Spock would have been better."

"Mr. Spock was needed here. Four days was too long. Without his support, ze captain would have been forced to go. It was good, Leonard. All of it was good."

"Yeah, well, maybe," he said, withdrawing his hand. He cleared his throat and rose from the stool. "I think you're ready to go sleep in your own quarters. Let me get this IV out and Scotty can come get you. Where'd he go, anyway?"

"He is gathering data for us to work on while I rest. From a project we were doing before ze mission."

"That's how you rest, huh? Particle physics?"

"Da. Iz fun for me," he said cheerfully. McCoy was still rolling his eyes when Scotty came in, hanging back a little in case they were having a personal medical consultation.

"There you are. You want to come take this kid off my hands, Mr. Scott?"

"Aye sir. Any special instructions?"

"Nothing much. Put him to bed and feed him for a couple days. Same goes for you, by the way, so you may as well stick together."

"Will do, sir. That won' be a problem."


End file.
